


Dyin' To Get There

by Percie_Jean



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Easter Egg Hunt, Frenemies, Friendship, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Modern Era, MusicalObsessed!Race, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Snarky!Davey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percie_Jean/pseuds/Percie_Jean
Summary: (Modern AU) Racetrack Higgins and Davey Jacobs have never gotten along well, but when their mutual friend Jack calls in a favor, they find themselves reluctantly teaming up for a road trip that will take them from Manhattan to Santa Fe...and into a handful of unexpected and comical adventures along the way.(Originally posted on Fanfiction.Net)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.

It was a well-known fact that Davey Jacobs was not a morning person. Not in the _how dare you wake me up I’ll throttle you_ kind of way. But in the sullen and silent kind of way. His friends knew this, and they avoided Davey in the early hours, knowing that, given some time to wake up, he would be back to his even-tempered, reasonable self. 

So, when Jack let himself into Davey’s apartment at 7:30 a.m., Davey was already suspicious of an ulterior motive. Jack, of all people, should have known that one did not simply stroll in at the ungodly hour of 7:30 a.m. He would have thought that four years of being roommates would have taught him that. 

“Mornin’, Dave!” Jack said cheerfully, moseying over to the table where the other boy was sitting. 

Davey didn’t answer, eyeing the paper cup that Jack was holding out in front of him like a peace offering. 

“You bought me coffee,” he stated flatly. 

“Sure did!” Jack gave him a sunny smile.

“From Stumptown.” 

“Your favorite: straight black, just the way you like it!” Jack proclaimed, setting it down in front of Davey with a flourish. When the other boy made no move to take it, he asked, “What, ain’t you gonna have some?”

Davey didn’t even glance at the cup, crossing his arms and giving Jack a wary look. “I’m not touching it until you tell me what the catch is.” 

Jack looked hurt. “Come on, Davey! Can’t a guy just buy his buddy a cup of joe every once in a while to show his appreciation?”

Silence. 

“Alright, so I do have a favor to ask you,” Jack admitted. “You know Ace an’ I are movin’ next week.” 

Davey nodded. The Kellys had finally decided to leave New York behind and pursue Jack’s dream of “livin’ sweet” in Santa Fe. They’d put their tiny condo up for sale and had recently closed on a starter home out west. All that remained was to finish packing their belongings. 

“Well,” Jack continued, “since we’re gonna be flyin’ out to meet with the realtor about our new place, we realized we needed someone to drive the movin’ van out to Santa Fe for us.”

Davey’s face relaxed. “That’s all? Jack, you didn’t have to buy me coffee just to ask me that. Of course I’ll do it!”

Jack held up his hands hesitantly. “It’s a pretty long drive - three days on the road, probably - so we thought it’d be better if you had someone to go with you.”

“Seems reasonable,” Davey agreed, finally reaching for the coffee. He pulled the splash stick out of the paper cup and took an appreciative sip. “Who’d you get for the job?”

Jack hesitated. “Well, most of the boys were unavailable next week, but Race said he could make the trip - ” 

Davey nearly spit out his coffee. 

“Yeah...thought you’d take that well,” Jack muttered. 

“Sorry,” Davey said, composing himself. “Look,” he sighed, “It’s not that I have anything against Race. I’m just not sure it’s a good idea for us to spend three days in close quarters. We aren’t exactly best friends, you know. I’m sure he’d say the same.” 

“I hear ya,” Jack agreed. Davey and Race had met in college (Jack being their mutual connection) and they had never really gotten along well. The ongoing prank war between Jack and Race probably hadn’t helped endear the latter to Davey, who, as Jack’s roommate, often found himself caught in the crossfire. Jack half suspected that, by the end of the year, Race was actually trying to see how far he could go in pranking Davey too while still making it seem like an accident. When they had parted ways after graduation, Jack was sure that the two boys never intended to cross paths again. But next week they would be spending nearly every waking hour in each other’s company for the span of several days. 

_Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea_ , Jack thought. 

* * *

“So, how did it go today?” Katherine Kelly asked her husband over their dinner of chicken wings and frozen pizza. 

“Well, the boys are both on board,” Jack reported, finishing a wing and wiping his fingers on a napkin. “I stopped by to see Dave this mornin’ before work, and he agreed to go.” 

“You know he would never say no to you,” Katherine smiled. Reliable, careful Davey had been their first choice for driver, so she was thankful that he was willing to make the trip. 

Jack laughed. “He was his usual huffy self at first, but yeah, he caved pretty quickly.”

“And Race?” 

“Race...needed a little convincin,’” Jack admitted. “He said he don’t mind the drive, but he ‘ain’t relishin’ the thought of spendin’ three days with that ‘know-nothing, tie-wearing, uptight little son-of-a...’ ” 

Katherine snorted a laugh, amused at her husband’s imitation of Race’s distinctive voice, but a little taken aback at Race’s rather harsh assessment of Jack’s former roommate. 

“I seem to remember Davey not being too fond of Race, either,” she mused. 

“He already said as much to me this mornin,’” Jack confirmed. “He was just was too polite to say it bluntly the way Racer did.” He sighed. “I dunno, Ace…I’m a little worried.”

Katherine gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe this will be a chance for them to get to know each other better,” she suggested hopefully. “Who knows, they could end up good friends when this is over.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Jack muttered, “if they don’t end up soakin’ each other first.” 

* * *

**_One week later…_ **

It was the morning of the trip to Santa Fe, and Race decided that it was probably about time to start packing. 

Cuing up the _Footloose_ soundtrack on his phone, he surveyed his room, pulling clean clothes from the piles stacked haphazardly atop his dresser. He tossed his toiletries into a Ziploc bag, grabbed his phone charger and earbuds, then dug under the bed and stuffed several boxes of Pop-Tarts into his duffel bag. A pair of sneakers and a few bottles of shelf-stable Sunny Delight completed the list, and Race zipped his bag up neatly, all ready to head out the door.

 _Let’s hear it for the boy,_ he congratulated himself. 

His phone buzzed. It was a text from Jack. 

_Racer - friendly reminder: don’t try to talk to Davey until he’s had his morning coffee._

Race scoffed, ignoring the text. As if anyone with half a brain didn’t know that. He pulled his baseball cap on and checked his watch; it was about time to head over to the Kellys’ condo to meet Davey. 

His phone buzzed: Jack, again. _Poor sucker must be bored waiting at the airport,_ Race thought. Jack wasn’t usually a worrier, but Race could tell that he was nervous about the impending road trip. He glanced down at Jack’s text. 

_Also, Race, you might want to bring your noise-cancelling earbuds. Davey talks in his sleep._

**_If he wakes me up at night, he’s getting a pillow in the kisser._** Race texted back, rolling his eyes. He was a notoriously light sleeper, which usually wasn’t a problem, as he didn’t need much sleep to function, but he never enjoyed being woken up in the middle of the night. 

A thought crossed his mind, and he dug through another pile of things until he found what he was looking for buried at the bottom. Maybe it was overkill, but in light of Jack’s warning, it probably couldn’t hurt to bring it along. 

Race shoved the zippered case into his duffel bag. 

* * *

Meanwhile, Davey was getting his own peppering of text messages from Jack. He was already at the Kellys’ condo, having packed (and triple-checked) his bags the day before, and he had just finished loading his luggage onto the moving van. This left him with nothing to do but wait for Race and answer Jack’s texts. 

_Keep an eye on Race when he’s driving, will ya Dave? He kinda thinks of the speed limit as a “friendly suggestion.”_

**_Duly noted_ ** _,_ Davey replied. 

_Also, make sure he actually eats somethin’ besides Pop-tarts._

**_Yes, Jack._ **

_Oh, and Davey? Prepare yourself for Race’s alarm clock._

Davey frowned. **_...what’s that supposed to mean, Jack?_ **

_Just...prepare yourself._

Before Davey could interrogate Jack further, Race arrived with a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

“That’s all you’re bringing?” Davey asked, putting away his phone. 

“It’s a three day trip of straight drivin’,” Race shrugged. “What do ya think we’s gonna be doin’ all day, sightseein’ and goin’ to tea parties?”

Davey squelched the urge to wing back a sarcastic reply (it was still early in the morning, after all, but at least he’d had his coffee). He merely unlocked the passenger door for Race, then walked around to the driver’s side of the van, taking a deep breath and telling himself that it was only going to be three days, and that he could put up with Race for that long...for Jack’s sake.

Race tossed his duffel bag into the van then climbed in, settling himself into the passenger seat and clicking his seatbelt into place before leaning back and resting his feet on the dashboard. 

Davey started the van. 

“So, what’d they bribe you with to get you to agree to this?” he asked. Might as well have it out there; it was clear they were both reluctant partners in this endeavor. 

Race gave him a look of mock outrage. “What’d they bribe me with? Nothin’ more than the chance to take a road trip with my best buddy, Davey!” He punched the other boy in the arm. “What kind of a guy do you take me for, huh? Thinkin’ I’d need any extra motivation!” 

Silence. 

“Okay…” Race admitted. “They was Coronas.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Getting out of Manhattan wasn’t as difficult as Davey had expected, even with the morning traffic slowing things down a bit. No matter; they could easily make up the time. Davey had looked up directions for the trip the night before, making sure he was familiar with the route, and had plotted out rest stops along the way. If all went according to plan, they would reach Santa Fe sometime Thursday afternoon. 

No sooner had they hit the highway, when Race dug into his duffle bag and pulled out a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts. “Ya want some?” he asked, offering a shiny silver package to Davey. 

“No thanks,” Davey replied. “I usually just stick with coffee.” 

Race shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He slid a toaster pastry out of its package and shoved half of it into his mouth, chewing noisily with evident enjoyment. 

“Do you eat that every morning?” Davey asked, trying not to look askance at the crumbs now littering the previously clean passenger seat. 

“Yup.” Race washed down the Pop-Tart with a swig of Sunny Delight. 

Davey grimaced. He remembered Jack’s admonition to limit Race’s Pop-Tart intake, but he didn’t want to start the trip with a dispute. And technically, Race  _ had _ ingested something besides the Pop-Tart. “That can’t be healthy,” he muttered. 

A resounding belch from Race was his only answer. 

The traffic on the highway thinned out as they drove, and soon Davey relaxed. He took a sip of coffee from the thermos he’d brought along (anticipating that it would be a two-cups-of-coffee kind of morning), and immediately felt more alert and at ease. 

“You want dibs on the radio?” he asked Race. “Or, if you need, there’s an adapter for your phone in the glove compartment.” 

Race eagerly popped open the glove compartment and plugged in his phone. “Ain’t a road trip without a little music.” 

The sound of John Travolta’s voice came over the stereo. “ Why, this car is automatic. It's systematic. It's hyyyydromatic. Why, it's greased lightnin’!”

Davey winced as the upbeat Rock n’ Roll song began playing. He’d forgotten that Race had been a theater major and was obsessed with musicals. 

Race was already singing along and bobbing his head in time to the music, when he noticed that his traveling partner wasn’t joining in. “What’s a matter, Dave?” he asked. “Don’t ya know this one? It’s a classic!” 

“I don’t, actually,” Davey replied. Race gave him an incredulous stare, and he felt compelled to elaborate. “Musicals aren’t really my thing...I mean, I saw  _ Wicked _ once, but that was it.” 

“Well ain’t you the hoi polloi.” Race sighed tragically, then patted the other boy on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Davey. I’ll getcha educated by the time this trip is over.” 

“Can’t wait,” Davey answered through gritted teeth. He was already regretting his choice to give Race command of the stereo. Taking another sip of coffee, he kept his eyes on the road ahead and resigned himself to the role of captive audience. 

* * *

They stopped in Pennsylvania to stretch their legs, then switched places (Davey surreptitiously brushing the Pop-Tart crumbs off of the passenger seat before getting in). Race was all too eager to assume the driver’s side. After adjusting the mirrors to his satisfaction, he started up the van, revving the engine a little. 

“It handles a bit sluggishly on the turns,” Davey warned. “Just be careful, Race; driving a moving van isn’t the same thing as zipping around in your MINI Cooper.” 

Race waved him off. “Handlin’ this? Come on, it’s a cinch; it could practically drive itself!”

“Well let’s pray it does,” Davey muttered under his breath, not at all sure that Race’s brash confidence in his driving abilities was warranted. 

They hit the road to the tune of “I Just Can’t Wait to Be King,” Race bopping up and down to the music and singing all of the parts (since this was yet another musical hit that his uncultured peasant of a traveling partner didn’t know). Davey, having depleted his coffee long ago, settled for staring out the window and trying his best not to be too irked. 

They noticed the traffic as soon as they hit the highway. 

“Hey, what’s the hold up?” Race wondered, as the moving van joined a slow stream of vehicles inching along at what seemed like a glacial pace. 

Davey rolled down the window and poked his head out. “Looks like there’s construction ahead,” he said, noting several hard hat clad men on the shoulder of the highway. “We may be stuck here for a while.” 

“Not if I can help it,” Race muttered, his eyes searching the road ahead until they landed on a lane that had been blocked off. “Ah, a short-cut!” The moving van swerved, picking up speed and plowing handily through an entire row of orange cones. 

“Is that even legal?” Davey wondered, over the screaming of ten angry road workers.

“Well, we gotta make up time somehow, and it ain’t gonna happen when you’s drivin,’” Race replied, as he sped along the empty lane. 

Davey looked affronted. “I drive the speed limit, Race...you know, what  _ safe _ drivers are supposed to do!” 

“Well, we gotta stay on track, and if you’s gonna insist on drivin’ like my grandma, then it’s fallin’ on me to do whatever it takes to get us to Santa Fe when we told Jacky we’d be there!” The van slowed down, and Race checked his mirrors before merging easily back into traffic. He noted with satisfaction that they’d bypassed the entire bottleneck, and gave Davey a smug smile. “Ya see? Easy. Ain’t nothin’ that says you can’t take a little shortcut every once in a while.” 

The other boy huffed. “You can’t just change the rules whenever you feel like it.” 

“Kings don’t need advice from little hornbills for a start!” Race sang at him, sticking out his tongue. 

Davey pinched the bridge of his nose. This road trip was turning out to be more of a character-building exercise than he’d bargained for. Jack was going to owe him, big time. 

* * *

The first day of traveling passed by more or less without incident. They made a few more stops along the way to grab a quick lunch and gas up the van, but otherwise kept a steady pace through Pennsylvania and into Ohio, hitting only occasional traffic along the way. Thankfully, Race hadn’t done anymore off-roading, and Davey had managed to endure nearly a whole day of being constantly bombarded with musical theater hits. He attributed his forbearance to the fact that whenever he drove Les anywhere, his little brother always took control of the stereo...and when one was forced to listen to “Baby Shark” over and over again, one had only two choices: to grit one’s teeth and bear it, or to descend into madness. Davey had chosen the former on multiple occasions, and applied this hard-won proficiency to Race’s seemingly endless playlist of Broadway tunes. 

By the time the sun went down, however, Davey’s head was most definitely spinning. 

It was completely dark when they pulled into the parking lot of their hotel, tired, hungry, and relieved to be done with driving for the day. Jack had suggested that each of them take care of booking a hotel for one night, so Davey had offered to take care of the first stop in Dayton. Fortunately, he had saved up his credit card points and was able to cover the cost of the room for himself and Race. 

While Race parked the moving van, Davey headed to the lobby to check in. Their room was on the third floor, number twenty-nine - not too far away from the elevator, the receptionist assured him. Davey was seriously contemplating skipping the elevator and taking the stairs instead; it would be a welcome chance to stretch his legs after a long day on the road. 

Just as he had finished checking in, Race strolled into the lobby with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and Davey’s wheeled suitcase in hand. His eyes lit up as he noticed the plate on the receptionist’s counter stacked high with chocolate chip cookies. “We don’t gotta worry ‘bout dinner now, Davey,” he crowed, dropping the luggage and grabbing a handful. “This place is amazing!”

“Glad you like it, Race,” Davey said absently, shouldering the luggage now that the other boy’s hands were occupied. He’d been hoping for a real dinner, but he had to admit that he was exhausted from driving (and the early wake up), and that he’d just as soon buy something from the hotel snack bar for dinner and turn in early. “You ready to head up?”

Race nodded, his mouth too full of cookies to answer. 

The room turned out to be larger than they’d expected, with a view of the sleeping city. Race claimed the bed nearer the door, explaining that he intended to get up early the next morning to swim in the hotel pool, so Davey was left with the bed near the window. He set down his luggage and peered out into the darkness, noting that the moon looked especially bright that evening. 

He wondered how Jack and Katherine were doing. Were things really cleaner, greener,  _ better _ in their new hometown? Could Jack’s wandering heart, which had sought beauty for so long in the dirty, crowded streets of Manhattan, finally be at rest among the wide open spaces and slower pace of Santa Fe? Davey supposed he could judge for himself in a few days whether or not the little town out west was all Jack had painted it to be. But he knew that, no matter how wonderful Santa Fe proved to be, he would never understand the allure it held for Jack. 

As Davey stood thinking, Race was unpacking the few belongings that he would need for the night. He was eager to hit the sack, knowing that the prospect of an early morning swim (and the hotel’s free continental breakfast) awaited him in just a few hours. Race set the alarm on his phone, plugged it into its charger, and then promptly flopped down on his bed. 

By the time Davey turned away from the window, the other boy was already asleep, snoring blissfully, his belly full of cookies. 

* * *

**_A few hours later…_ **

Jack hadn’t been kidding about Davey’s sleep talking. 

Race, woken from a deep slumber, glanced at the bedside alarm clock and groaned when he saw the time.  _ Great, just great _ . His fingers fumbled for the earbuds he’d stashed in the nightstand by his bed, and he managed to get them plugged into his phone. He turned on some white noise and settled back down, gradually increasing the volume until it was loud enough to cover the sound of Davey’s muttering. 

He had almost nodded off when his roommate began talking loudly (if unintelligibly), almost as if debating with himself. Race snarled angrily, pulling out the not-quite-effective-enough earbuds. His fingers twitched, aching to grab an extra pillow from the bed and cream Davey with it, but he managed to stop himself. It wouldn’t help to take his frustrations out on his traveling partner, and in all fairness, Jack  _ had _ warned him. 

Thankfully, Race had listened. 

Throwing off the covers, he stumbled over to his duffel bag and began digging through it until his fingers closed around the zippered case he’d packed earlier that day.  _ This had better work _ . Race made his way back to the bed and climbed in, readjusting the covers over himself. He carefully put in his earbuds. Then he opened the case he’d retrieved and put a pair of headphones over his earbuds. And finally, he laid down to sleep. 

It seemed to do the trick. Lulled into a drowsy state by the ambient sound of the white noise, Race drifted off in minutes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things have been relatively calm so far, but there are still two days of traveling left, and a lot can happen in two days. Thanks for following along, and please let me know what you thought about this last chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Race awoke early the next morning to the sound of muffled voices and footsteps passing in the hallway. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pulled out his earbuds and headphones, stretched luxuriously, then clambered out of bed, ready to seize the day. 

No sooner had he finished brushing his teeth and throwing on his clothes, than he heard his roommate muttering again in his sleep. Now that Davey was no longer interfering with his rest, Race was slightly curious. He crept over to towards the other side of the room, straining to try to catch what the other boy was saying. 

“I mean...who in their right mind doesn’t use a ladder to reach something that high?” Davey mumbled, his voice dropping so low that Race almost couldn’t make out the words. “Impulsive...definitely impulsive….didn’t listen to me, either….gonna get herself killed one day...” 

Race rolled his eyes. Leave it to boring ol’ Davey to actively fret about someone’s safety even in his sleep. Of all the things he could be dreaming about...

Suddenly, the sound of a rhythmic drum beat filled the room, punctuated by the rattle of a tambourine and the blaring of a saxophone. 

“Oh, oh, oh, woke up today, feeling the way I _always_ do! Oh, oh, oh, hungry for something that I can’t eat, then I hear that beat!” 

Race dove for his phone. He’d forgotten to shut off the alarm. Quickly (and regretfully) muting the opening number of _Hairspray_ , he snuck a glance over his shoulder, wondering if he’d been quick enough to prevent Davey from waking up. The other boy groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. _Apparently not._

Race jumped onto the bed next to him. “Hey, you awake, Dave?” he asked, jabbing his roommate with his elbow. “I gotta ask you a question.” No response. “Daveeey…” Race shoved him again, harder this time. Still no reaction. 

“Ain’t no use pretending,” Race chided, raising his voice a little. “I know you’s awake under there.” 

Silence. 

Race gave an exasperated sigh, then said loudly, “ _Davey Jacobs_ , didn’tcha _fatha’_ ever teach you not to lie - ” 

“ _What,_ Race?” Davey growled, finally emerging from under his pillow. 

“Good mornin’ to you, too,” Race responded, amused. “Hey, I’m gonna go check out the breakfast downstairs and then hit the pool. What time do we need to be on the road?” 

“Shouldn’t be swimmin’ after eatin,’” Davey mumbled sleepily. 

Race ignored him. “What time, Dave?” he pressed. 

“No later’n nine.” Davey disappeared under his pillow again. 

This time, Race let him be. 

* * *

Breakfast was a quick affair, Race making short work of a couple of danishes and a glass of orange juice. He then made his way to the pool area which was located outside, just a stone’s throw away from the hotel proper. 

Thankfully, no one was using the facility, so he had it to himself. Race dropped his towel and room key on a lounge chair, then, with a running start, dove into the cold water. 

He’d probably been swimming for the better part of an hour and was about to call it a morning, when he heard the sound of the pool gate squeak open and slam shut, then the steady beat of footsteps walking towards him. Race glanced up at the new arrival. 

“I can’t believe you’re swimming.” Davey stood at the edge of the pool, coffee cup in hand, looking neat and tidy in his flannel shirt and jeans. 

“What else am I supposed to do in a pool, genius?” Race snarked. 

Davey ignored the sarcasm. “You know, hotel pools are a known source of waterborne illnesses,” he remarked. “The CDC did a study and found that about one in six--” 

“Ah, stow the seriosity, Dave!” Race interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Ain’t nothin’ the chlorine an’ such won’t kill.” 

Davey frowned. “Kids pee in pools all the time. Think about how many kids have peed in this one.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Race heaved himself onto the side of the pool, shaking the water out of his hair. Davey moved carefully out of range, draining the last of his coffee and tossing the paper cup into the waste bin. 

A small but decidedly wicked smile crossed Race’s face. “Hey!” he called. “You got your phone on you, Davey?” 

“No,” Davey replied. “I left it in the room.” 

“Good,” Race jumped to his feet. “Then a little dip shouldn’t hurtcha one bit.” He tackled Davey before the other boy could react, and the momentum sent both of them plunging into the pool. 

* * *

Race finished his second Pop-Tart and glanced at his watch. 9:45 a.m. They’d better be hitting the road soon. 

He could hear the sound of the hair dryer running in the bathroom. Davey was taking forever. Probably had to make sure he’d washed all the germs out of his ears. Race crumpled up his Pop-Tart wrapper and threw it away, then knocked loudly on the door. 

“Hurry up, Davey!” he yelled. “I ain’t gettin’ any younger, and we gotta be goin.’ You look pretty enough, alright?” 

The hair dryer stopped, and the door clicked open. “Might I remind you,” Davey said in a clipped tone, “that we could have been on our way a long time ago if _someone_ hadn’t decided to push me into the pool.” The door clicked closed. 

“Ain’t my fault you’s such a germaphobe,” Race muttered. But he was secretly pleased with the morning’s events. They reminded him of his college days, when he and Jack would try to out-prank each other, their practical jokes escalating to epic proportions. Race had always awarded himself an extra point any time he could get a rise out of Davey, too. Jack’s straight-laced roommate was an easy target, and Race had taken a gleeful satisfaction out of watching him squirm. The skunk and the shaving cream incident had been a particularly memorable victory; Race wondered if Davey had ever figured out he was the one behind it. 

The bathroom door opened, and the subject of his musings emerged. 

“Took ya long enough,” Race said, getting to his feet. “I checked us out at the front desk, and Rachelle’s loaded. Let’s hit the road.” 

“Rachelle?” Davey asked quizzically as they left the room and made their way down the hallway. “You _named_ the moving van?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Race asked defensively.

“Well, generally speaking...I mean...it’s just...you don’t…” Davey threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “Never mind. Call it - or _her -_ whatever you want. I’m too tired to argue with you.” 

“You’s still tired even after sleepin’ in so late?” Race queried. 

Davey gave him a miffed look. “Actually, after you left I couldn’t go back to sleep because I was worried about you getting a cramp and drowning with your stomach full of goodness knows how many Pop-Tarts or cookies or whatever sugar-filled pastry you ate for breakfast this morning. That’s why I came down to the pool in the first place.” He shook his head. “Terrible decision on my part.”

“Awww, Dave, you _do_ care!” Race drawled, a bit mocking, but secretly touched. 

Davey gave a regretful sigh. “Yeah, I guess I can’t be something I’m not.”

“What, a heartless jerk?” Race teased. 

“No, smart. If I’d let you drown in the pool, I could have finished the rest of this trip in peace without any more belittling remarks about my driving or obnoxiously early wake-up calls. I’m kind of wishing I had thought of that earlier.” 

“Ah, you know you’d miss me,” Race grinned, punching the other boy in the arm. “Just you wait, Davey Jacobs, just you wait! You’ll be sorry, but your tears will be too late!”

“Is life just one big musical to you?” Davey groused. 

“You can’t stop the beat, Dave!”

* * *

The morning drive was surprisingly pleasant, Race already in high spirits, and Davey prepared for the day’s onslaught with a full thermos of coffee. Race drove for the first leg of the trip, and Davey had to grudgingly admit that, with the other boy at the wheel, they made up for the lost time quickly. Of course, he reminded himself, it was Race’s fault they’d been behind schedule in the first place. 

They stopped in Indianapolis to gas up, Race immediately heading to the convenience store to buy some snacks while Davey filled up the van and cleaned the windshield. It would be his turn to drive next, and he didn’t want to be staring at the road through a layer of dead bugs. 

Returning the squeegee to its holder, Davey noticed an ad for the convenience store’s sub sandwiches. His stomach growled. It would be time for lunch soon, but with Race stocking up on snacks, he didn’t know how long it would be before the other boy was actually hungry for a meal. Deciding he should probably pick up a few things to tide him over until their next stop, Davey jogged over to the convenience store entrance and was about to go in, when Race burst through the double doors, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him forcefully towards the moving van. Davey stumbled at the unexpected change of direction, one sandal slipping off of his foot. 

“Come on come on get in get in!!” Race gave him no time to protest, pulling open the passenger door and practically shoving Davey inside. 

“But it’s my turn to drive!” 

Race slammed the door in his face, scurrying around to the other side of the van. He leapt into the driver’s seat, jammed the key into the ignition, and took off, tires squealing. In the rear view mirror, they could make out several cop cars arriving at the scene as they peeled away, leaving the gas station behind them. 

The van was quiet for a moment, both boys trying to catch their breath. Then Davey said softly, “Does somebody want to tell me why we’re runnin’?” 

“Holdup,” Race replied shortly. “The guy didn’t notice me and went straight for the cashier. I got out before he saw me.” 

Davey whistled. “Wow.”

“Uh huh.” Race gave him a quick glance. “You okay?”

“I lost my shoe...but yeah,” Davey laughed. “I’m okay.” 

“Knowin’ you, you probably have a couple of spare pairs in that luggage of yours,” Race remarked. 

Davey looked embarrassed. “Well, actually...yeah, I do,” he admitted. “And good thing, too. I mean, my sneakers are out of commission right now thanks to you and that pool, and now I’ve got only one sandal, so if I hadn’t planned for the worst, I’d definitely be shoeless by now. I guess it pays to be prepared!”

“Yes, _Mother_ ,” Race smirked. 

“Believe me, Race, you’ll be glad I packed as much as I did at some point on this trip,” Davey asserted. “There’s an emergency supply bag in the back of the van, a case of water bottles, reflective lights and flares in case the van breaks down, and--” 

“Hold on a minute,” Race interrupted. “Somethin’s up.” He wrinkled his nose. “Dear me, what is that unpleasant aroma?”

Davey sniffed tentatively, noting that, indeed, there seemed to be an odd smell wafting through the cabin. Before he could remark, a loud rattling noise sounded, startling both of them. 

“What do you think’s going on?” Davey asked, alarmed. 

Race put his hand up to one of the vents. “I think it’s the AC. It just started blowin’ hot air.” 

Davey copied him. “You know, you may be right,” he confirmed. He could already feel the van’s temperature rising, and reached over to shut off the malfunctioning air conditioner. “Should we pull over, Race?” 

The other boy nodded. “We’ll take a look when we get to the next rest stop.” He patted the van’s dashboard. “Hang in there, girl.” Within a few minutes, they were pulling off of the highway. 

A closer inspection of the van (as well as some internet research on their phones) seemed to confirm Race’s initial diagnosis. The air conditioner was out of commission for the time being, and they would just have to make due without it. 

“Could be worse,” Race muttered, as they piled back into the van. “At least it ain’t gonna stop us from drivin.’” 

Davey agreed, although he was slightly concerned about the remainder of the trip. They would be hitting Texas tomorrow, and a heat wave was in the forecast. Turning the key in the ignition, he eased the van out of the rest stop parking lot and back onto the highway, hoping that there wouldn’t be any more breakdowns in the future. 

Sobered by the events of the past hour, the boys spent most of the next part of the trip in silence, Race not even bothering to turn on his music. 

Once they reached St. Louis, they stopped for a late lunch (Davey was ravenous at this point, and insisted that they sit down and have an actual meal). They then switched seats again, Race taking over the driving and Davey settling into the passenger seat. 

“You know, it’s been a little quiet,” he said, in an attempt to cheer up his uncharacteristically despondent traveling partner. “Do you…” the words almost stuck in his throat, but he forced himself to follow through, “do you want to maybe turn on your music for a while?” 

Race brightened immediately. “Why sure, Davey!” he exclaimed. “I mean, ‘specially if you been missin’ it so much.” He pulled out his phone, driving with one hand as he scrolled through his playlists. “I know just the thing.” 

Unfortunately, right at that moment a car pulled out of a driveway directly in front of the moving van. Race recovered just in time, slamming on the breaks and narrowly avoiding a rear-end collision. “What the - !” He let loose a stream of choice words at the other car as it drove away, then huffed out a breath of frustration before glancing over at Davey.

“You all right?” 

Davey’s heart was pounding, but he nodded. “I’m fine. But I’m pretty sure I heard something crash in the back of the van.” 

“Great.” Race scowled. 

They pulled over and opened up the cargo area, carefully inspecting boxes and furniture to determine if anything had been broken. Everything seemed to be intact, until Race found an upended box near the rear of the van. As soon as he picked it up, he could hear the muffled tinkling of shattered dishes. 

“Well, it’s official,” he declared, squinting at the label on the box. “I just broke Katherine’s grandma’s china.” 

Davey grimaced. Of all the boxes that could have been damaged… “It was my fault,” he said apologetically. “If I hadn’t asked you about the music -” 

Race gave him a dismissive wave. “Don’t try an’ change the subject, Dave.” He sighed regretfully, then held out the van keys to Davey. “So, does the _safe_ driver mind takin’ another turn at the wheel for a bit while I figure out what I’m gonna say to Kath about this?” 

* * *

Davey ended up driving the rest of the way. They arrived at the hotel in Springfield even later than they’d gotten to Dayton the evening before, and had trouble finding a spot to park the moving van. Since Race had taken care of the reservation for this stop, he hopped out of the van and went to check in while Davey circled the parking lot again to see if they’d missed any open spaces. 

Finding nothing (it seemed to be an unusually small parking lot), Davey pulled onto the street and managed to park the van about a half a block away from the hotel. He grabbed Race’s duffel bag and his suitcase, then, after making sure the van was locked, walked briskly down the street and over to the hotel lobby. 

The minute he crossed the threshold, Davey knew that something was wrong. Race was waiting for him. “We got ourselves a little problem, Dave.” 

Davey tensed, his mind immediately constructing all kinds of worst-case scenarios. “What is it?” he asked warily. 

“Well, it seems they’s all out of non-smokin’ rooms here. There’s some kinda convention in town this week, so all of the hotels in the area is booked solid. It don’t bother me...you know I enjoy a cigar every now and then...but -” 

“I’ll be fine, Race,” Davey interrupted tiredly. What choice did they have? It was late, probably too late to try to find another hotel, especially if accommodations were already scarce all over town. He motioned to Race. “Let’s head over.” The other boy looked at him doubtfully, but eventually led the way out of the hotel and across the parking lot to their room on the first floor. 

Race turned the key in the lock, the door sticking a bit to the jamb before he jiggled it free. He pushed the door open, and the two boys peered into the empty hotel room. It smelled strongly of smoke and other indiscernible odors. Davey flicked on the light switch and surveyed the dimly lit room with dismay. Two double beds, sporting garishly bright duvets, took up most of the small space. A narrow nightstand was squeezed between them, and a battered chest of drawers stood on the opposite wall. The mustard yellow carpet had clearly seen better days and was stained in several places, to the point where Davey wasn’t even sure he felt comfortable putting his luggage down on the floor. 

Race pushed past him into the room, tossing his duffel bag on one of the beds. “Home sweet home,” he said, his attempt at cheeriness falling a little flat. 

Davey gingerly set his suitcase down on top of the chest of drawers. “Race,” he asked tentatively, “did you read the ratings on this hotel before you booked it?” 

“What do you think, Dave?” Race snapped, pulling his toiletries out of his duffel bag. “You’s the one with the big brain between the two of us.”

“I’m taking that as a ‘no,’” Davey said, a bit disdainfully. 

“You can take that as _no,_ I ain’t a neurotically fastidious germaphobe,” Race snarked back. 

“Race, that’s unfair!” Davey objected. “I’m not a…a...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Race raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. 

“That’s unfair,” Davey repeated weakly. 

The other boy maintained his offended silence. 

Davey sighed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have asked that. I know it’s been a tough day for both of us....I’m sure the room will be fine.” Race had probably tried his best, after all, and there was no point in belaboring what could have been done to prevent their current situation. Davey began unpacking his belongings, telling himself that the dingy hotel room was probably cleaner than it looked, and mentally preparing to make the best of it for the night. 

His determination, however, went out the window when he found a live cockroach in his bed. 

“That’s it,” Davey declared, as the insect scuttled away. “I don’t care what you call me, Race; I’m not sleeping here. I’ll shower and wash up, but then I’m going back to the van. At least I know it’s relatively clean in there.” He headed to the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him.

Race rubbed at his eyes, tired and still a bit put out. He felt a slightly guilty that their current lodgings weren’t up to Davey’s standards, but Race had slept in worse places, and didn’t see the problem with enduring a little discomfort for just one night. The smell wasn’t really that bad, and if you left the roaches alone, they generally returned the favor. Davey didn’t have to be such a prig about it. 

Fishing a half-eaten package of Pop-Tarts out of his duffel bag, Race set about devouring the remaining toaster pastry. With critters running around the hotel room, it would be best to make sure he didn’t leave any open food sitting around. Besides, they probably wouldn’t be getting any dinner tonight, and he doubted that this hotel would be providing breakfast. A makeshift meal would have to do for now. 

Several minutes later, Davey had finished his shower, and Race was washing his hands at the sink. His phone buzzed. Race hastily dried his hands on his sweatpants (he was sure they were probably cleaner than the hotel towels anyway), then answered the call. 

“Hey, Racer!” Jack’s voice greeted him. Race moved the phone away from his ear and set it on the nightstand, wincing a little; Jack didn’t know the strength of his own voice; it carried as well as if he had been on speakerphone. 

“Heya, Jacky,” he replied cautiously. 

“Just checkin’ in,” Jack said, the cheeriness in his voice sounding a little forced. “How are things goin’?”

“Goin’ swell!” Race answered brightly. Davey, close enough to overhear the conversation, gave him a disbelieving stare, and looked like he was about to say something. “Nothin’ new to report,” Race cut in hastily. 

“Good, good. No problems, then...?” Jack asked, still sounding unconvinced.

“Nope!” Race clamped a hand over Davey’s mouth. “We’s right as rain, here!”

“Alright,” Jack said. “Well, I gotta run. Say hi to Dave for me, will ya? I’ll see you tomorrow in Santa Fe.” 

“Okay, bye Jac--dszahdhhhh!” Race cut the call abruptly as he felt Davey lick the hand covering his mouth. 

“That’s _disgusting_!” Race exclaimed, staring at the other boy in shock. “Geez Davey, where’d you learn to pull a stunt like that?”

“Got a little brother,” Davey said, wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve. “And I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t seen you wash your hands right before.” He pinned Race with an accusing look. “So, keeping secrets from Jack, now, are we?”

“He don’t need more to worry about right now.”

“Agreed, but _lying_ , Race?”

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him,” Race insisted. “And he’ll find out soon enough. Besides,” he shrugged, “it ain’t lyin,’ just keepin’ him from the truth a little.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night.” Davey stowed the rest of his toiletries away, then pulled his suitcase down from the chest of drawers, ready to retreat to the van. “But if he asks, I’m telling him your forcibly prevented me from giving the real story.” 

Race threw a shoe at him. “Am-scray, punk.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting a bit more complicated for our traveling newsies, but no one’s been soaked yet (unless you count the pool), so hopefully Jack can rest easy knowing that there’s only one more day on the road left for Race and Davey. (*Ironic laughter*)
> 
> On another note, I’m curious: did anyone get the significance of Davey and Race’s first hotel room number in the last chapter? What about the “Rachelle” reference in this installment? (Or am I just in my own category of crazy?) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!


	4. Chapter 4

Davey awoke early the next morning not to Race’s alarm, but to the sound of the other boy tap, tap, tapping on the glass of the van window. Still half asleep, Davey cracked open the door. 

“Good mornin,’ Sunshine!” Race said cheerfully. “Didja sleep well?” He didn’t bother waiting for an answer before continuing, “I’m gonna check us out of our room soon. You want to go wash up there before we hit the road?”

Davey stared blankly at him. 

“Come on now, Dave,” Race cajoled. “The sooner you get movin’ the sooner we can go getcha some coffee.” 

The mention of his favorite drink seemed to invigorate Davey somewhat, and he managed to grab a change of clothes and his toiletries and then follow Race back to the hotel room. He felt a little more awake after washing up, and soon they were headed back to the van, Race sliding into the driver’s seat by unspoken agreement and Davey searching on his phone for directions to the nearest coffeehouse. 

“Hope you don’t mind a little music,” Race remarked. “I’ll start’cha out easy this mornin’ since you haven’t had your cup o’ joe yet.” He made his song selection before backing the van out of its parking space, adding, “And seein’ as it’s the final leg of our trip, this seems to be fittin’...”

The van joined the stream of morning traffic, and Race began singing, “One day more! Another day, another destiny…” Despite the rather early hour, he was eager to be on his way. It would be a long day of driving, but once they reached Santa Fe, they would be able to crash and Jack and Katherine’s place before preparing for the return trip the following day. 

The van trundled down the road, taking a turn here and a turn there, Race carefully following Davey’s directions and valiantly attempting to sing all of the parts to “One Day More.” “You really gotta start learnin’ some of these songs, Dave,” he puffed at one point, out of breath. “I can’t keep up; this ain’t meant to be a one-man show.”

Davey made an indistinguishable sound of what Race took to be agreement. (He wasn’t sure how successful his “educating” of Davey had been - the other boy had shown an unwavering indifference to most of the cast recordings Race had played, but at the very least, he was protesting less, so Race took that as a small victory). 

“Here’s the turn off,” Davey said. “The coffeehouse should be just ahead.” Race spotted the establishment and eased Rachelle over, turning into the driveway just as the final crescendo began to swell. 

“One more dawn, one more day, one day moreeee!” Race threw his hand out dramatically, timing it so that the van rolled to a stop just as the final note of the song died away. He gave Davey a satisfied grin. “Don’tcha just love it when that happens?” He punched the other boy in the arm. “Come on, let’s go getcha that joe!”

* * *

The effects of the coffee on Davey’s mood and capacity for conversation were almost instantaneous. By the time they returned to the van, he felt much more awake and agreeable, the brief frustrations of the night before gradually dissipating with every sip. Stowing his thermos safely in a cup holder, Davey clicked his seatbelt into place, and then glanced over at the van’s dashboard. 

The barometer read 88 degrees. 

“Yikes,” Race remarked, noticing the climbing temperature as well. “We’s gonna have one heck of a drive ahead of us.”

“And we haven’t even hit Texas yet,” Davey added. “They’re expecting a heat wave today.” He was thankful that he’d opted for wearing a t-shirt and shorts instead of his usual flannel and jeans, anticipating an uncomfortably hot ride now that the air conditioner was out. 

“Well, we got nowhere to go but onward,” Race declared gamely. 

The morning drive was warm, but uneventful. They kept the windows up as long as they could, but eventually had to roll them down when the heat became unbearable. This meant that Race had to blast his music even louder to be able to hear it over the sound of the wind rushing past. It also meant that conversation was kept to a minimum, as any attempt at talking soon escalated into what ended up sounding like a shouting match... 

“RACE!” Davey yelled. “I APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT, BUT I DON’T THINK THIS SONG IS REALLY MITIGATING THE HEAT IN ANY WAY.” 

“WHAT?” Race hollered, over the chanting of “Colder by the Minute.” “I CAN’T HEAR YA!” 

“I SAID, I DON’T THINK THIS IS HELPING!” Davey shouted, louder this time. 

Race, looking amused, wiped the sweat from his brow. “WHAT’S THE ALTERNATIVE, HUH? SITTIN’ IN SILENCE WITH NOTHIN’ TO DO BUT THINK ABOUT HOW WE’S FRYIN’ LIKE EGGS IN HERE?” He shot Davey a grin, than said coaxingly, “COME ON, DAVE. A LITTLE IRONIC HUMOR NEVER HURT NO ONE. LET’S AT LEAST MAKE THE BEST OF IT.”

Davey sighed. “WELL...I SUPPOSE THAT IS THE RIGHT ATTITUDE,” he finally conceded. 

Race looked confused. “YOU NEVER KNEW NO ONE WITH AN APTITUDE?”

“NO, I - NEVER MIND.” Davey shook his head, his throat beginning to get hoarse from all the yelling. Race shrugged. 

They made it through Oklahoma without incident, but trouble found them after they had crossed the border into Texas. Traffic on the highway slowed to a crawl and eventually stopped altogether, forcing Rachelle to idle at a standstill. After waiting several minutes, Race turned on the radio to the traffic alert station. They soon learned that there had been a major accident several miles ahead, and that traffic was shut down completely on the highway for an indefinite amount of time. This would have been unwelcome news enough under any circumstances, but the addition of the steadily climbing temperature made this announcement almost unbearable. 

“Hand me another water bottle, will ya, Dave?” Race was amassing quite a collection of empty recyclables, and (though he’d never admit it) he was thankful that Davey had thought to pack what had initially seemed to be a ridiculous amount of water. They were already halfway through the case, and still had several hours of driving ahead - more, perhaps, if this traffic jam took a while to clear. 

“We’re going to have to start rationing this soon,” Davey joked, tossing Race a bottle. “Who knows how long we’ll be stuck here?” 

“I’m thinkin’ we oughta just bypass this bottleneck,” Race muttered, popping open the bottle and taking a gulp. “I can see the off-ramp up ahead. If we could just get onto the shoulder a little - ” 

“No,” Davey said firmly. “We should wait it out. This isn’t driving along a blocked off lane on a highway, Race. You’re talking about serious off-roading here. And I don’t think Rachelle is equipped to handle this kind of terrain.” He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I can’t believe I just said that…I must be going crazy.”

“Shhh,” Race admonished. “She’ll hear ya.” He surveyed the shoulder again. It was mostly unpaved and looked rather uneven in spots, but otherwise didn’t seem to pose any real difficulty. And if it meant avoiding a long and unpleasant wait in the heat, well, that seemed like a risk worth taking. 

Davey saw the look in his eye, and immediately began protesting. “Race, I mean it! Don’t -” 

But Race had already made up his mind, and Rachelle was soon bumping over the low divider that separated the highway from the dirt shoulder. At first, she seemed to be negotiating the terrain just fine, and Race was about to chide Davey for his lack of faith, when they hit a series of potholes. The sharp jarring sensation quickly eliminated any possibility of conversation, and Race found himself struggling to keep the van on course. He swerved this way and that, trying to steer Rachelle to smoother ground, but to no avail. 

They’d made it about three hundred yards from their initial starting point, when a series of loud bangs punctuated the air, followed by a flapping sound as the van lurched uncontrollably. Race quickly slammed on the breaks, and Rachelle came to a screeching stop. 

Glancing over at Davey (who was white-knuckling the armrests of the passenger seat), then at the van’s dashboard, Race was dismayed to see the tire pressure light flash on the display. He popped open the door and slid out of his seat, walking around the van to assess the damages. It was worse than he’d expected. Whatever he had driven through back there had blown out all four of Rachelle’s tires. 

“Sorry, girl…” Race apologized, patting the van regretfully. 

“We’re in a pickle now, that’s for sure,” Davey said, having recovered sufficiently to come out and join Race. He shaded his eyes from the sun, glancing around. “And it looks like we’re out in the middle of nowhere.” Pulling out his phone, he suggested, “Let’s try to find a place that offers roadside assistance.” 

Both boys began searching. “The only place that can do towing within a 30 mile radius of here is this place called Delancey Bros. Auto Parts & Service,” Davey said, after several minutes. 

“Only two stars on Yelp,” Race cautioned, holding up his phone. “See, Davey? Learned my lesson - read the ratings this time.” 

“We might not have much choice in this case,” Davey replied, rubbing his temple. He sighed, then gave Race a humorless smile. “I’ll give you the choice: do you want to call and arrange for the tow, or would you rather call Jack and let him know we’re gonna be late getting into Santa Fe tonight?”

“I got the tow!” Race said immediately. He patted Davey’s shoulder. “Good luck with Jacky, Dave!”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” Davey muttered, pulling up Jack’s number on his phone. 

Jack picked it up on the first ring. “Hey, Davey! How you boys doin’?”

“We’re in a little bit of a predicament,” Davey confessed. “I don’t want to worry you, but I thought we should let you know we probably won’t be making it to Santa Fe until late tonight.” Cautiously, he filled Jack in on the events of the last few days: the faulty air conditioner, the near-accident and the breaking of Katherine’s grandma’s china, the roach-infested hotel... 

“I mean, that don’t sound too terrible,” Jack cut in, impatient to get to the crux of Davey’s rambling narrative. “What’s the predicament you was mentionin’?”

“Well…” Davey took a deep breath. “Here’s what went down: we got stopped by an accident - I mean fully stopped, for how long, we had no idea - ”

“Okay…”

“And Race thought that if he drove along the shoulder he could get around it-” 

“Dave, what the -” Jack snapped, already sensing where the story was going. “Did the heat fry your brains or somethin’? As I recall, Dave, I told you to watch him closely. He’s not-”

“Not the safest - ”

“Gee, ya think?” 

“Jack, I tried my hardest - Race just doesn’t listen!” 

“So, what’s the worst? Is the van even drivable?”

“Four flats. And most likely some dings from the towing.”

“Of course!”

“But we’re fine,” Davey insisted, trying to keep Jack positive, “and we’ll be in Santa Fe before you know it!”

“Yeah, Dave, you’re right,” Jack conceded. “It’s your safety that’s most important. Glad you’re okay. And the tires is an easy fix.” 

“Should be.” 

“So there’s nothin’ to stress over, right?”

“Exactly! Don’t be so worried!” Davey said cheerfully, with more conviction than he felt. A voice in the back of his head scolded him for minimizing the severity of the situation, and warned that Race was rubbing off on him, but Davey guiltily ignored it. He was in agreement with Race on one thing, at least: Jack didn’t need more to worry about, and he would find out everything soon enough. 

“So, how’ve you been holdin’ up, Dave?” Jack broke in, changing the subject. “I mean, besides Race’s crazy drivin’ and what not. You bummers been gettin’ along all right? No soakin’?”

Davey laughed. “No, Jack. No soaking - not yet.” He found himself grinning, and added, “Race does have quite the obnoxious alarm system, and I think I’ll have lyrics from musicals stuck in my head until the end of time...but it actually hasn’t been too bad. I mean, not as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe even a little bit fun, at times.” 

“That’s the Racetrack effect,” Jack said knowingly. “Ya can’t stand him, but at the same time ya can’t not love him.” He laughed fondly. “Well, I’m glad you two is makin’ the best of things. I really appreciate it, Davey, and Kath does too. I’ll letcha go and take care of the van now, but tell Racer I said hello, and we’ll be waitin’ for you tonight.”

“All right, sounds good, Jack. See you soon.” Davey ended the call, letting out a sigh of relief. Well, that hadn’t gone too badly. He turned his attention to Race, who was just wrapping up his own call with the towing company. 

“How’s it looking?” Davey queried. 

“They said they’ll be here within half an hour,” Race responded. “And they got Rachelle’s tires in stock, so it shouldn’t be a problem replacin’ them.” He paused. “Gonna be a hefty sum, though, for the tires and the tow, and we gotta pay up front. Cash only, too.” 

“How much?” Davey asked immediately. Race told him, and he winced. “Okay…” he said, trying not to panic. “I’m sure...I’m sure we can swing that.” He dug out his wallet and began counting bills. “How much cash do you have on you, Race?”

Race hesitated. “Well...see, the thing is, Dave, I’m really more of a card kinda guy - ”

Davey stopped counting. “You didn’t bring any cash?” he asked quietly. 

“Just a couple a dollars,” Race said, shifting uncomfortably. “And,” he fished around in his pockets, “I got a nickel.” 

Davey opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head and simply went back to counting. Race watched him uncomfortably. He would have rather preferred Davey’s criticism to his silence. 

Finally, Davey stopped tallying the bills and let out a sigh of relief. He had just enough money to cover the cost of the tow and the tires. Once they got into town, he could replenish his depleted wallet at a bank. It was going to be fine. “I’m going to wait in the van,” he told Race, tucking the wallet back into his pocket. “This heat’s brutal.” Race was a sight, dusty and dripping with sweat, and Davey was sure he didn’t look much better. What he wouldn’t give to be at the beach right now, or even at a pool - just not a hotel pool, he amended. He wouldn’t go quite that far. 

Race followed him back to the van, and both boys collapsed into Rachelle’s cab, thankful for the respite from the sun’s intensity, if not its heat. They sat in silence for several moments, then Davey tossed Race another water bottle. “Drink up,” he ordered. “We’ll get heat stroke in no time if we don’t stay hydrated.” He popped open his own bottle. 

“You sure is takin’ this well, Davey,” Race remarked, taking a swig from the water bottle as directed. “I mean, it’s kinda my fault we’s in this situation in the first place, and you ain’t even mad?” 

Davey set down his water bottle. “I told you, Race, I have a little brother. I’ve had years to practice keeping my temper. And besides, I just told Jack that we were getting along fine, and I’d like to think that I wasn’t, to use your words, just ‘keepin’ him from the truth’ when I said that.” He gave Race a pointed look. “Just promise me you’ll take cash with you next time you travel anywhere. Really, Race. For your own good. And for the good of any potential future traveling partners - though I can’t imagine anyone being as idiotic as me and actually agreeing to go anywhere with you.” 

“Ah, there’s the Davey Jacobs sarcasm!” Race said appreciatively. “I was beginnin’ to worry you’d lost it.” 

Before Davey could reply, they heard the distinct sound of tires rolling over dirt and gravel. 

“Ya hear that?” Race perked up. “Think it’s the highway patrol?”

“Or could it be...the Delancey brothers?” Davey suggested. 

“If it is, they’s early,” Race remarked, popping open the door to Rachelle’s cab to get a better look. Sure enough, a large tow truck was pulling up beside the moving van. The driver parked the truck, then got out of the cab and sidled over to where Race and Davey were waiting. 

“Hey! You the ones that called about the tow?”

Race nodded the affirmative, a bit taken aback by the newcomer’s gruff attitude. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” the driver asked, holding out his hand. “Cash up front like I told you. Cough it up.” 

“Wait.” Davey broke in. “Just so we’re clear, er -” he glanced at the name patch on the driver’s coveralls “ - Oscar, what exactly is this covering?” 

“Towing to the shop and four new tires,” Oscar said shortly. “I do the tow; my brother Morris’ll fix your flats.” 

Davey hesitated. “You wouldn’t happen to have that in writing, would you? I mean, this is a bit of a risk for us, paying you up front like this with nothing but your word -” 

“No contract,” Oscar spat. “It’s honest work. And you aren’t gonna find another place around here that’ll tow you for this price, I promise. So…” he folded his arms across his chest. “...you paying or walking, what’s your pleasure?” 

“Oh come on, Davey,” Race said, exasperated. “Just do it.” Davey frowned at him, but emptied his wallet and handed the stack of bills to Oscar, who counted them carefully before tucking them into his pocket. 

“How long do you think fixing the flats will take?” Davey asked. 

Oscar shrugged indifferently. “Morris has got a few other customers ahead of you. I’d plan on hanging around for a while.” Without another word, he turned and set about getting the van ready for towing. 

* * *

The trip to the Delancey brothers’ auto shop was quiet, Oscar maintaining a taciturn silence, Davey staring intently out of the passenger side window, and Race uncomfortably scrunched between them. The traffic on the highway had begun crawling forward by this time, and they exited via the very offramp Race had been aiming for initially. They then drove for several miles, getting further and further away from the highway. 

Just as Davey was starting to get a little nervous (exactly how remote was this auto shop?), they rolled into what looked like a small town comprised of several buildings standing standing side by side off of the road. Oscar pulled up to the last structure on the strip and parked the car near the auto shop. 

“Welcome to the middle of nowhere, boys,” he said with a grin that looked more like a sneer. “You might as well make yourselves at home while you wait.” 

“Does this town have a bank?” Davey asked, looking around as they piled out of the tow truck. 

“Closest bank’s seventeen miles down the road,” Oscar answered. “And I wouldn’t chance it on foot in this heat, but it’s your funeral.” He began walking towards the auto shop. “I’ll call you when the van’s ready.” Davey and Race were left standing on the street. 

“Well…” Race shoved his hands into his pockets and shot a glance at his traveling partner. “We havin’ fun yet, Dave?” 

Davey was silent for a moment before answering. “If we’re not, I don’t know how much more fun I’ll be able to handle.” His hands clenched involuntarily, and Race, quickly recognizing the other boy’s attempt to curb his growing anxiety, patted him on the back. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Davey,” he said reassuringly. “Don’t sweat it, all right?”

Davey took a few deep breaths. “Yeah...you’re right.” He rubbed the back of his neck then added, almost to himself, “this is just...part of the adventure.” 

He ain’t foolin’ no one with that delivery, Race thought, but he nodded encouragingly at Davey, who seemed to be growing a bit calmer. “That’s the spirit.” Race glanced down the road. “Hey, it looks like there’s a restaurant or something over there,” he pointed, attempting to take Davey’s mind off of his worries. “I sure could use a bite to eat. What do ya say we check it out?” Davey agreed, so they made their way down the street to the brick building that sat in a central location, about halfway down the road. Painted on the window in bold letters was the name of the establishment: The Wooden Nickel, Rustic Table and Tavern. Below, second line proclaimed: Live Entertainment Thursday, Friday, and Saturday Nights! 

Race went to open the door but stopped short when he noticed a sign that read “CASH ONLY.” “What is it with this town an’ only accepting cash?” he grumbled. 

“Probably has something to do with the nearest bank being seventeen miles away,” Davey mused. 

“Well,” Race said, looking at the menu posted in the window, “let’s see if two dollars and five cents can getcha anything at this place.” 

It turned out that two dollars and five cents actually could buy an order of biscuits and gravy, so that’s what they purchased at the restaurant’s take out window. They were just sitting down to eat in the covered patio outside, when Race noticed he had a missed call and a voicemail on his phone. He motioned for Davey to start eating and began playing the message, putting the phone up to his ear. 

“Argh,” he moaned a moment later. Just when it couldn’t get any worse. “Here Dave, listen to this.” He handed his phone to Davey. On it was a voicemail from Oscar Delancey stating that they wouldn’t be able to get to the van this afternoon after all, but that it would be ready by the time the shop closed at the end of the day. Davey put the phone down soberly. There was no way they’d make it to Santa Fe tonight. 

After a moment of stunned silence, Race took a deep breath, “So…” he ventured, “who’s gonna call Jacky-boy with the news?” 

Davey tossed him his phone. “You’re up, Racetrack.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, yes, Jack and Davey’s conversation about the tow is meant to be sung to the tune of “Watch What Happens (Reprise).” :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what’cha thought! I promise, Race and Davey will get to Santa Fe soon!


	5. Chapter 5

Race went a little ways down the road to make the call to Jack, leaving Davey sitting on the patio outside of The Wooden Nickel to finish up the last of the biscuits and gravy and to ponder how they were going to get out of the mess they found themselves in. 

The way Davey saw it, the main issue that needed to be addressed was their lack of money, or cash specifically. They were going to be stuck in this little town until dinner time at least, and would need to find a way to pay for a meal (unless they planned on subsisting solely on Race’s remaining Pop-Tarts) and to gas up the moving van once the tires had been replaced. Thankfully, there was a service station not far from the auto shop, but like all of the other establishments in town, the only form of payment it took was cash. So, finding some kind of work would be necessary. 

Davey cleaned up the utensils and napkins from their meagre meal and walked back to the main entrance of the restaurant to throw away the trash. As he did, a small sign on the door caught his eye. It read: HELP WANTED.

_ Thank you, God! _ Davey thought. This could be the answer to their problems! 

He waited as patiently as he could for Race to finish his phone call. It looked like Jack was giving him a bit of a hard time, from the way Race was gesturing and pacing back and forth, but finally the other boy hung up the phone and came over to Davey, looking a bit sour, but saying nothing. 

“I won’t ask you how that went,” Davey said, “but I do have some good news for you.” He pointed excitedly to the sign on the door. Race squinted at it. 

“Help wanted,” he read, sounding unimpressed.

“Don’t you get it, Race? This is how we can earn the cash we need!” Davey exclaimed. “Come on, let’s go see if we can find someone inside to talk to about this.” Race followed him into the restaurant, letting out a sigh of relief as he stepped into the cool of the air-conditioning, and blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting. 

It was actually a fairly sizable establishment, with a large waiting area for guests adjacent to the bar area. A table with a chess set and several board games sat by the door, and beyond that, racks of cue sticks lined the wall, overlooking what could only be described as... 

“A pool table!” Race gasped, stopping short. 

Davey gave him a perplexed look, and Race waved his arm at the offending object. “A pool table, don’tcha understand?” 

“What’s wrong with a pool table?” Davey asked innocently. 

Race slung his arm around the other boy’s shoulders, leaning in conspiratorially. “Friend, either you are closing your eyes to a situation you do not wish to acknowledge, or you are not aware of the caliber of disaster indicated by the presence of a pool table in this community. Well, you got trouble my friend! Right here I say trouble right here in - ”

“Yes, Race,” Davey cut in. “We do. Have trouble. A lot of trouble. Remember the van? And the money? Can we please focus here?” 

“Make your blood boil? Well, I should say!” 

“Race,  _ please _ ,” Davey pleaded. 

“Alright, Dave, alright,” Race acquiesced. “Keep your shirt on.” He glanced around the the restaurant. Opposite the bar and waiting area was a large dining room full of tables and chairs. It was currently corded off and empty, but looked like it could accommodate quite a few dinner guests, as the room was fairly deep. On the far wall Race could make out a platform on which sat a piano and several microphones, presumably the stage for The Wooden Nickel’s advertised live entertainment. 

A man was crouched near the corner of the stage with his back to them, fiddling with some of the electrical cords. 

Davey cleared his throat. “Um, excuse me, sir,” he called, leaning as far as he could over the barrier. “Could we speak to you about something?” The man didn’t turn around. 

Race rolled his eyes. “Hey!” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth and using his best theater voice. This time, the man heard him, glancing over his shoulder in surprise. Race waved at him, motioning for him to come over. 

“So, what do I tell him, Dave?” he asked, as the man walked towards them. 

“Just tell him we’re a couple of hungry kids with no money,” Davey answered. “And ask him if there are any odd jobs we can do around here in exchange for cash.” Race nodded as the man drew near. 

“Hey, ‘scuse me, mister!” he began, “I know this sounds funny, but we’s down on our luck and we ain’t got no money. Any chance you need some prep cooks or a busboy or two? We’s willin’ to do anything you’s needin’ us to do.” 

“Just can’t help yourself, can you?” Davey muttered under his breath. Race only grinned. 

The man gave them an appraising look, as if unsure of whether to speak with them or throw them out. Davey was sure their bedraggled appearance wasn’t doing them any favors, but there was nothing for that now. He was about to say something, to plead if necessary, when the man broke the silence. 

“Well, we are looking for some help in the kitchen,” he said cautiously. “And we’re expecting a pretty large crowd for dinner tonight. But I’ve got to ask Mr. Jacobi, the owner, first. All new hires have to come through him - ”

“What’s this, Darcy?” came a voice from behind them. A burly, bearded man strolled over to the dining area, a glass of seltzer water in hand. 

Darcy motioned to Race and Davey. “Mr. Jacobi, these boys are looking for some kind of work.”

“Work?” The man stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment. “Hmmm….I might have a few options for you.”

“What’ve you got?” Race asked, trying not to sound too eager. 

“Well, son, here are your choices: I heard you shouting all the way back in the kitchen, and I’m not sure if you’ve got a set of pipes to go with that voice of yours or not, but I just got word that our vocalist for tonight came down with a bout of bronchitis. We’ve got a large crowd coming for dinner tonight, and I need someone to step in last minute to handle the entertainment. As you can see, we’ve got a piano and sound system in our dining hall. If you and your friend can put together a program for our guests tonight, I’ll let you sing for your supper, and I’ll throw in the amount we would have paid our scheduled performer and her accompanist.” He paused, and took a sip of seltzer water. “Or, if you’d prefer, you can join the kitchen crew in the back and help us through the dinner rush at the hourly minimum wage. Your choice. I’ll pay you in cash either way.” He gestured to Davey. “Discuss it with your friend, if you’d like.” 

Race was about to say they’d do kitchen duty, when Davey grabbed his arm. 

“Race,” he whispered urgently, “the first option - take him up on it!”

“What, are you crazy?” Race hissed. 

“Come on, Race! I’ve heard you sing,” Davey insisted. “You’re really good. And I’ve had ten years of piano lessons. I think we can handle a little dinner show.” 

Race hesitated. Despite his theater background and obsession with musicals, he didn’t consider himself a very strong singer, and had no desire to perform in front of a crowd of strangers. But it did seem to be the more potentially lucrative of the two options. And besides, he was the one who had gotten them into this mess. The least he could do was listen to Davey this one time. If the other boy thought they could pull it off, then who was Race to argue with him? 

“Sure beats washin’ dishes,” he conceded. Davey gave him an encouraging pat on the back. “Alright, Mr. Jacobi. You got yourself a dinner show,” Race declared. 

The burly man looked pleased. “Excellent! There’s a makeshift green room off to the left of the stage. Feel free to make yourselves comfortable there. Darcy can help you with your setup for tonight. The program will begin at 7:00 p.m. sharp. I look forward to seeing what you boys come up with.” Toasting them with his seltzer water, Mr. Jacobi took his leave. 

“We’ll sound check at 5:45, before the dinner begins at 6:00,” Darcy said, all business. “In the meantime, you’re welcome to use the piano, and I’ll show you how the board works if you want to try out the sound system.” 

The next several hours passed by in a flash as Davey and Race got acquainted with the setup of the stage and hurriedly tried to figure out exactly what they would be performing for the guests that night. Davey suggested that Race use the songs in his audition book as a starting point, which turned out to be a wise decision, as running through the well-rehearsed numbers eased Race’s nerves somewhat. Lacking the actual book, Davey was left to figure out the accompaniment on his own, but this he did deftly, much to Race’s amazement. They worked away tirelessly until the late afternoon, rehearsing song after song until they’d settled on a lineup they were both happy with. 

Deciding that a break was in order, they retreated to the green room. To their delight, it was fully stocked with water bottles and small snacks, and even had a table and chairs and a set of couches. 

“I don’t know if I’d rather eat or sleep,” Davey sighed, collapsing onto one of the sofas. Race copied him, flopping down on the remaining couch, before opening a package of chips and emptying the entire contents into his mouth. 

“Well, we certainly could be doing worse,” Davey remarked, surveying their surroundings with satisfaction as Race crunched away. “If we had taken the dishwashing job, we’d probably be sitting out in the heat with empty stomachs.” He grinned at Race. “Thanks for being willing to give this dinner show thing a try.” 

Race shook his head, still in disbelief. “Never thought I’d see the day when Davey Jacobs would be the one convincin’ me to do somethin’ a little crazy,” he responded. 

Davey only shrugged, but Race could see a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, well...I guess there’s a first time for everything.” He jumped to his feet, suddenly full of energy. “Hey, I just remembered that I brought my sports jacket with me, and a button down and tie, too. I’m going to go back to the van to get them, and I’ll check in with the Delanceys while I’m there to see when we can pick up Rachelle. I’ll bring your duffel bag back, too, in case you want to change before tonight. We should probably try to clean up a little before we go on.” 

“You’s probably the only person I know who would pack a shirt and tie for a road trip, Davey,” Race teased. “But seein’ as they’s actually comin’ in handy, I guess I can’t say much.” He laid back on the sofa, kicking his feet up and resting his arms behind his head. “I’m gonna try to get a little shut-eye in before we gotta go sound check.” 

Davey nodded. “I’ll join you when I get back.” He was halfway out the door, when he turned back and said tentatively, “Race...we’d better make sure we get up on time for tonight. You’re...uh...going to set an alarm, right?” The pained look on his face was priceless, and Race guffawed. 

“You know you can always count on me for that, Dave.” 

* * *

Davey’s trip to the auto shop to retrieve their belongings was quick, and Morris and Oscar assured him that the van would be ready to go by evening. Since Race and Davey would be in the middle of their performance when the shop closed, Davey arranged to have the van parked outside of the shop, and the key dropped off at The Wooden Nickel. Logistics settled, he returned to the green room, where Race was already snoring away, clutching one of the sofa’s throw pillows like a teddy bear. Careful not to wake the other boy, Davey set down their things, then pulled a notebook and pencil out of his luggage. He sat down at the table and began scribbling down notes for the evening’s performance. Silently, he thanked his parents for forcing him through a decade of piano lessons. He’d hated it then, but he sure was grateful for it now. 

His preparations took a little longer than expected, but by the time he’d finished, there was still time for a short nap. Pushing aside his notebook, Davey walked over to the available couch and stretched out, tiredness claiming him almost as soon as his head hit the pillow...

In reality, it was the better part of an hour, but to him it felt like mere minutes before he was dragged from slumber by the urgent sound of drums and brass blaring throughout the green room.

“Now is the time to seize the day! (Now is the time to seize the day!) Answer the call and don’t delay! (Answer the call and don’t delay!) Wrongs will be righted if we’re united, let us seize the day!” 

“Race, what  _ is _ this?” Davey groused, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes as the anthemic song continued to play at a jarringly loud volume. 

“Only one of the most motivatin’ show tunes out there!” Race replied cheerfully, reaching for his phone. “Ain’tcha never heard of  _ Newsies _ , Davey? The musical about the newsboy strike of 1899?” 

“No, I haven’t; think my ignorance of Broadway musicals has been well established. Can we just go back to  _ Hamilton _ or something?” Davey grumbled. “This guy’s cheeriness is grating.” 

“Suit yourself,” Race replied, cuing up “Guns and Ships.” “Better?” 

Davey mumbled something unintelligible, and Race silently wondered if Mr. Jacobi would be willing to spot them for half a cup of coffee. 

“Hey, just sit tight, Dave,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried out of the room. Within minutes, he was back, holding a mug of steaming liquid, which he shoved gently into Davey’s hands. “Can’t have ya fallin’ asleep at the piano tonight,” Race remarked, his tone light but his face serious. He could sense the beginning of pre-show jitters beginning to churn in his stomach, and knew that the last thing he needed was a sullen accompanist on his hands. 

The coffee had its desired effect, and Davey soon perked up, much to Race’s relief. Both boys had missed calls from Jack on their phones, but neither of them wanted to answer him right then. Race shoved his phone into his duffel bag, out of sight. “Come on, Davey,” he motioned. “Let’s go wash up.” 

Davey hesitated, feeling slightly guilty. He knew that they had Jack worried - really worried. But he walked away, leaving his phone in the green room, and, with Race on his heels, went to go clean up before it was time to meet Darcy for their sound check. 

* * *

“I’m wonderin’ how big this crowd’s really gonna be,” Race remarked, as he adjusted his microphone on stage. “Don’t make sense for folks to be drivin’ out to the middle of nowhere just to eat some biscuits and gravy and hear some no-name performer sing.” 

“I was thinking the same,” Davey said, “so I took the liberty of doing a little research. It turns out this place is actually a hidden gem; it’s been written up in travel magazines and featured on  _ The Food Network _ . So we might actually have quite a crowd tonight.” 

This was unwelcome news to Race. 

After they completed their sound check with Darcy, they retired to the green room to wait until it was time to go on stage. Davey sat down at the table to review his notebook while Race paced back and forth, unable to focus on anything in particular. 

True to his word, Mr. Jacobi provided them with dinner, sending over a waiter with two warm meals, a glass of juice for Race, and another cup of coffee for Davey. 

Race joined Davey at the table, but found himself too full of nervous energy to eat. Instead, he morosely pushed his chicken cutlet around on his plate, shooting envious glances at Davey, who had quickly demolished his dinner and was already tucking into dessert. 

“It don’t seem fair that I’m the one with the butterflies, seein’ as you’s usually the nervous one of the two of us,” Race finally remarked, pushing his plate away

Davey finished a bite of pie before putting down his fork. “Sorry, Race…” he said, giving the other boy a sympathetic look. “I don’t know why I don’t get nervous about these kinds of things.” He paused, then elaborated, “I guess it’s because when I was growing up, whenever I had a piano recital or competition or something like that, my mom would always come in before my performance and tell me she was proud of me. And she’d always say the same thing to me afterwards, even if I’d screwed up horribly.” He shrugged. “I guess it just kind of helped me not to worry so much, knowing that her words would be the same, regardless of my performance.”

“Yeah, well, it’s too bad some of us don’t have moms that come around to tell us things like that,” Race mumbled, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. 

Davey stared at him in silence for a moment. “Your mom never came to watch you perform?” he asked quietly. 

Race shook his head. “Nah. She had other things to do. Never quite managed to make it to anything.” Davey caught the little flicker of pain in Race’s eyes before the other boy hid it beneath a shrug of indifference. 

Davey put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “She missed out.” 

Race waved him off. “Stow it, you sap. My friends was always there for me, and my little sister came to everything she could.” He added, almost defensively, “I got my own personal fan army back home, so don’tcha dare feel sorry for me, Davey.” 

“Okay, okay…” Davey raised his hands in surrender. “I hear ya.” He sensed that he had narrowly avoided crossing a line with the other boy, and made a mental note to tread carefully around the topic of family with Race in the future. 

Anxious to change the subject, his eye fell upon Race’s uneaten piece of pie. Davey hesitated. He felt bad for taking advantage of his traveling partner’s loss of appetite, but still, it was chocolate cream pie, and it seemed a shame for it to go to waste. 

“Um,” he began tentatively, “if you’re not going to eat that…”

Race gave him a disbelieving look. 

“Sorry, never mind,” Davey backpedaled. 

“No, no, it’s fine, Dave,” Race said, suddenly sounding a little more like himself. “You’s welcome to have it.” He paused. “I just didn’t think you’d want to eat this  _ particular  _ piece of pie.”

“Why not?” Davey asked. 

“Don’tcha see it?” Race motioned to the dessert. Davey craned his neck, trying to figure out what the other boy was referring to, but failing. Race rolled his eyes. “You sure you don’t need glasses, Davey?” He held up the plate. “Look!” 

Davey leaned over. “I don’t see anything wrong with - ” 

Race shoved the pie into his face. 

“Didn’t think that would work,” he chortled gleefully. “But I guess I was wrong!” He slapped his traveling partner on the back. “Thanks, Dave! My butterflies is all gone now - you sure know how make a guy feel better!” Springing up from the table, Race grabbed his empty cup. “Be right back - gonna get a refill!” And he sauntered away, whistling the notes of their opening number. 

“Unbelievable,” Davey muttered, as the door slammed behind him. He reached for a napkin. 

Unfortunately, Darcy chose that exact moment to poke his head in the door. “Ten minutes to places, gents!” he announced. He caught sight of Davey and stared. “Ah...enjoying the pie, I see?” he ventured. 

“It was delicious,” Davey answered, with as much dignity as he could muster. 

“It’s actually one of our specialties -  _ Sunset _ magazine did a feature on it last month.” Darcy paused, clearly wanted to say something more. But he checked himself and, with one last reminder about their start time, backed out of the room, nearly running into Race, who was just returning with his drink. 

“Geez, Davey, I leave you alone for one minute and look what happens!” Race said loudly for Darcy’s benefit.

“Give it a rest, pal,” Davey said, wiping his face with a napkin, “unless you want your songs magically transposed up a key or two higher tonight.” 

Race immediately fell silent. 

* * *

The dining room was completely packed, humming with noisy anticipation as Race stepped on stage, adjusting his microphone for probably the fiftieth time, and giving a thumbs up to Darcy, who was working the soundboard at the back of the room. Lacking appropriate attire for the occasion, Race had borrowed Davey’s sport coat to wear over his t-shirt and jeans. It was a little big on him, but it got the job done. As he fiddled nervously with the jacket’s sleeves and looked out over the audience, he reminded himself that he’d never have to see any of these people again, and took some small comfort in that fact. 

Glancing over at Davey, who was at his seat behind the piano, Race nodded. He was as ready as he was going to be. Davey gave him an encouraging look, then began to play. The crowd fell silent, and Race gave them his most winning smile.  _ Show time. _

* * *

The thunderous sound of applause actually startled Race as he took a bow, extending his arm to acknowledge Davey’s accompaniment and then Darcy’s work on the soundboard in the back of the room. The patrons of The Wooden Nickel were on their feet, clapping, smiling, and cheering, having clearly enjoyed themselves and his performance, and Race let himself drink in the moment.  _ So this is what it felt like to be famous! _

He shot Davey a grin, still amazed that they had pulled it off. He had to admit, it would have been a much more faltering performance if it hadn’t been for for his pianist’s understated musicality, which had covered a few of Race’s stumbles near the beginning of the set when the nerves had almost gotten to him. But after a while, he had settled in nicely and was feeling the rush, feeling the high...and then after that it was like walking on air. 

Taking a final bow, Race stepped down from the stage, and was almost immediately swarmed by congratulatory handshakes and hearty compliments on his performance. 

Davey watched him proudly - he knew Race would accuse him of being a sap, but he couldn’t help it. Race was naturally talented, and it was good to see him get his chance to shine. Closing the piano lid and gathering his notebook, Davey was about to go thank Darcy for his help, when Mr. Jacobi came walking through the crowd and up to the stage, looking pleased as punch. 

“You boys did an excellent job tonight!” he boomed. “Far exceeded my expectations! It would have been an unfortunate waste of talent to have you in the kitchen washing dishes.” He handed Davey an envelope “Here’s the payment for tonight, as promised, and…” he dug into his pocket and then held up a key, “Oscar from the repair shop dropped this off about an hour ago.” 

Davey took the key, relieved to have it back in his hands. “Thanks, Mr. Jacobi,” he said gratefully. “We would have been in a bind if you hadn’t given us a chance to do this.” 

The burly man shook his head knowingly. “Well, I had a feeling about you boys, and my instincts are never wrong! Speaking of which…I had a band cancel on me, so can I book you guys again for tomorrow night? I know it’s last minute.” 

Davey grinned regretfully. “We really appreciate the offer, but we’ve got to be hitting the road first thing tomorrow morning. Thanks, though - and for the dinner, too. Everything was great, the pie especially.” 

“Well, that  _ is _ one of our specialties!” Mr. Jacobi beamed. He stuck out his hand for Davey to shake. “You boys are always welcome at The Wooden Nickel. Come back and play for us again sometime, alright?” He glanced over at Race, who was still surrounded. “I’d tell your friend myself, but he seems a little busy right now.” 

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” Davey promised. He bid Mr. Jacobi goodbye, and then, after a brief word of thanks to Darcy, retreated to the green room to pack things up. They’d done what they’d needed to do here, and with cash in hand and Rachelle up and running, they could once again set their sights on Santa Fe. 

* * *

Race pushed open the door to the green room nearly an hour later, still feeling the adrenaline rush of the night’s success. 

Everything was neat and in order. Davey had cleaned up the room and packed their bags, and was standing with his back to the door, engrossed in conversation on his phone. “Hey, you’ll do great,” he said encouragingly to the person on the other end of the line. He noticed Race, and gave a small wave of acknowledgement. “No, don’t worry about that, Les…” Davey continued. He paused, then added firmly, “If Sally’s really your friend, she’ll support you.” Another pause. “Yeah, I know...don’t remind me,” Davey sighed, rubbing his temple. “Les, you promised, remember?” There was another long pause, as Les replied. 

“We’ll talk more about this later,” Davey said finally. “I gotta go now. But I’ll see you soon, alright? Okay...you too...you’re welcome. Goodnight, Les.” Davey ended the call, then glanced apologetically at Race. “Sorry about that. My little brother has a presentation in class tomorrow, and he wanted me to listen to his run-through.” 

Race waved it off. “Don’t need to apologize, Dave,” he said. He remembered from his college days that Davey had always been close to his family. “Hey, guess what?” he said, grinning. “I met a fella tonight after the show, and he gave me this.” He held something out to Davey.

It was a business card that read:  _ B. Denton. Talent Scout.  _ Davey’s eyes widened. “Race, that’s...that’s great! He told you to call him?”

“Yup,” Race answered proudly. “Said he’d want to work with me if I was interested. Turns out he’s from New York, too.” 

“What are the chances of that?” Davey laughed. “Well, I think we can chalk tonight up as an undisputed success for you. Aren’t you glad you listened to me about taking this job?”

“Smugness ain’t a good look on you, Dave,” Race jibed, smiling but refusing to answer the question. He tucked the business card into his wallet, then shouldered his duffel bag. “You ready to head out?” 

Davey took one last look around the room, then picked up his suitcase and nodded. “Mr. Jacobi gave me the money for tonight, and I’ve got Rachelle’s key, too, so I think we have everything we need. Let’s go.”

They left the restaurant in high spirits, walking slowly down the road towards the repair shop where the moving van was sitting, parked at the end of the street. 

“Your theater chops definitely showed tonight,” Davey remarked, clapping Race on the back. 

“And you is one heck of a piano player,” Race returned admiringly. “Got that stage presence too - never woulda pegged you as an entertainer, Davey.” 

“I actually thought about going into performing arts in college,” Davey confessed. 

Race was shocked. “Well, why didn’tcha?” he asked. The possibility that he and Davey could have been classmates was yet another startling revelation on a day that had already been full of surprises. 

Davey shrugged. “I didn’t think it would be practical for me to try to make a career out of it, so I went in a different direction.” 

“What  _ was _ your major?” Race asked, wracking his brain to try to remember. “Somethin’...smart, right?”

“Biochemistry,” Davey answered. “Something  _ practical _ .” 

“Do you ever wish you’d done somethin’ a little less practical?” Race wondered. 

Davey shook his head. “It was my choice; no regrets.” He grinned. “But tonight was fun. I kind of miss the thrill of performing sometimes. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this.” 

They reached the van, which was looking shipshape with its brand new tires, and it oddly felt a little like coming home. 

“Good to see you again, Rachelle,” Race said. “We’s gonna rest a bit for tonight, but we’ll be hittin’ the road first thing tomorrow mornin’ once the service station opens and we can getcha a full tank of gas.” He turned to Davey. “I’m pretty sure we ain’t got nothin’ to worry about ‘round here, but maybe we should take turns keepin’ watch for tonight.” They would only be resting for a few hours anyway, and could always sleep on the road once they left for Santa Fe in the morning. 

Davey concurred, volunteering to stay awake for the first shift while Race got some sleep. Surprisingly, Race was actually starting to get tired - the rush of the evening had begun to wear off, and the fatigue was setting in - so he agreed. “I dunno about you, but I’m gonna check out the view from the roof,” he said, digging through his duffel bag and pulling out a sweatshirt. “I still dunno how you can sleep inside the van, sittin’ up like that. I gotta be somewhere where I can stretch out.” 

Davey cracked open the windows of the van slightly to allow for a cross-breeze, then settled back into the passenger seat. “Well, it’s certainly not the comfiest place for an over-nighter, but it still beats that hotel of yours in Springfield,” he joked. 

Race protested. “Ah, come on, Dave - it wasn’t that bad!” 

“The only redeeming quality of that hotel was that it didn’t have a pool,” Davey replied mercilessly. Race scoffed, but said nothing, tossing the sweatshirt onto the top of the van and then climbing nimbly up after it. From the roof, he could see the entirety of the little town. 

Race laid down and put his rolled up sweatshirt behind his head as a makeshift pillow. With relatively few lights piercing the darkness of the night sky and no buildings in the way, the view of the stars was breathtakingly beautiful. It was almost as if he could reach out and touch them if he just stretched his hands up high enough. 

“At the top, at the top, at the top of the world…” Race sang quietly to himself. 

The moving van door opened, and a light blanket was thrown up onto the roof. “It might get a little chilly tonight,” Davey’s voice came floating out of the darkness. 

“I’ve stopped askin’ myself how you packed all this stuff in such a small space, Dave,” Race remarked playfully. “You’s a regular Mary Poppins with who knows what else comin’ out of that luggage of yours!”

“Like I said, it pays to be prepared,” Davey replied, and Race had to give him credit for sounding more earnest than smug. “Just be careful, Race. Don’t sleep too near the edge of the roof. And if it gets too cold, come down and get another layer, alright?” 

“Yes, Mother,” Race answered, pulling the blanket over himself. “I promise, I’ll be good.” He shook his head, grinning a little, then added, “‘Night, Davey. Make sure an’ wake me up when it’s my turn.” 

“I’ve already picked out the most ear-splitting, bothersome show tune I can think of,” Davey deadpanned. “Goodnight, Race.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if this got a little too meta (Medda)...I just thought it wouldn’t be an accurate representation of Race’s well-rounded musical theater repertoire if I didn’t include Newsies in there somewhere. :)
> 
> This trip is coming to an end, but I promise I’ll do my best to give you a doozy of a finale without causing any undue harm to either Race or Davey. (There may be an appearance by a certain bowler-wearing little brother, but I’ll just leave it at that, lest said little brother accuse the author of palavering).
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter! :)


	6. Chapter 6

It was 4:00 a.m., and Race was bored out of his mind. 

True to his word, Davey had woken him up to take his turn at watch, then had settled back into the passenger seat of the van and fallen asleep almost immediately. How he could sleep sitting upright was a mystery to Race. 

His phone’s battery had died almost an hour ago, and he regretted not remembering to charge it during the day. He worked on rearranging the furniture in the back of the van, putting the luggage further towards the back of the cargo space and moving the Kellys’ items closer to the front for easier unloading. Fortunately, Davey seemed to be tired out from the previous day’s events and was in a deep sleep (Race could have held a hoe-down in the back of the van, and the other boy would have been none the wiser). Now that the task of rearranging the cargo area was finished, he was itching to find some other way to channel his antsy energy. 

His eyes fell upon the emergency supply bag Davey had packed. Race unzipped it, curious to see what kind of outlandish items his traveling partner had deemed necessary to bring along in an already crowded moving van. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would find something in there to help him pass the time...

* * *

Davey awoke to find himself duct-taped to the passenger seat of the moving van. He wasn’t sure if it was preferable to waking up to Race’s alarm clock or not. 

“Race...” he called out of the half-opened window. “Real funny, alright? You got me. And you know, this duct tape was actually supposed to be used for _emergencies_.” 

There was no answer. 

“Race?” Davey twisted his head, trying to look around. It was clearly still early in the morning; faint streaks of sunlight had begun to illuminate the sky, but all around was the hushed stillness of night just turning into day. 

Davey called for Race a third time, but again received no answer. He was just beginning to get a little anxious, when a familiar grinning face popped up at the driver’s side window. 

“Mornin’ Davey!” Race said cheekily. “You sure was out like a light last night! Sleep well?” He opened the door and jumped into the driver’s seat. 

“Well enough,” Davey replied as patiently as he could. He was really not in the mood for more of Race’s pranking, but reminded himself that it was the last day of the trip, and that he could endure this for a bit longer. 

“Okay, you’ve had your laugh,” he conceded. “How about letting a pal go?”

“Nah,” Race said teasingly. “Just think of it this way, if we get into an accident, you’s gonna be extra secure.” 

“And if the van catches on fire, I’ll be dead,” Davey retorted. 

“Ah, lighten up, Dave, no one’s gonna die.” Race grinned, snapping his seatbelt into place and turning the key in the ignition. He pulled the van out of its spot and headed towards the service station at the end of the road. It was only a short distance away, so he’d let Davey agonize for a bit before cutting him loose after the van had been filled up. 

Race reached into the compartment where he usually kept his Pop-Tarts, intending to pull out a toaster pastry for the road, but to his surprise, his hand closed around empty space. Glancing down at the niche, Race was dismayed to find that it was, indeed, bare. 

“That’s strange,” he muttered. He was sure he’d had two more packages left in that box when they’d left the van at the auto shop. Reaching over to his duffel bag, which he’d left up front, he unzipped it and began digging through the contents with one hand, trying to keep an eye on the road ahead. He was positive that he had at least one unopened box buried at the bottom of his bag. But to his surprise, his search yielded nothing. _What in the world..._

“Missing something?” Davey asked cooly. 

Race’s eyes narrowed, realization dawning upon him as his eyes darted immediately from his duffel bag to the self-satisfied look on his traveling partner’s face. “Davey Jacobs, you wouldn’t _dare_ …”

“You’re not the only one who got bored last night, Race,” Davey replied indifferently. 

Race pulled into the gas station’s parking lot. He searched the cab of the van. He opened up the cargo space. “They’re not in my luggage,” Davey called, “so don’t bother looking in there.” Race didn’t listen, but after performing a thorough search of Davey’s suitcase, grudgingly admitted that the other boy had been telling the truth. He searched over, under, and around the Kellys’ furniture and boxes. He even looked underneath the van, below the hood, and on top of the roof. No sign of the missing Pop-Tarts. After several minutes, Race came stalking back to the front seat. 

“Where _are_ they?” he growled. 

“Not telling,” Davey replied. “If you want to cut me loose, maybe a compromise could be arranged, but until then…” he shrugged. 

“I can’t function without my Pop-Tarts,” Race whined. 

“And let me remind you that I’m going without my morning coffee,” said Davey. “So don’t expect any sympathy from me.” 

Race gave him a menacing look, but retrieved a pair of scissors from the emergency bag and did as requested. “Alright,” he said impatiently, returning the scissors to the bag. “Where’d you hide them?”

Davey thrust a wad of bills at him. “Here’s cash for the fill up. Go inside and pay for the gas, and when you get back, your Pop-Tarts will be here.” 

Grumbling under his breath, Race did as he was told. After paying at the service station’s window, he walked back to the van, where Davey was already cleaning the windshield in anticipation of driving the next leg of the trip. 

Race filled up the van, then tapped Davey on the shoulder. “Okay, Dave. Enough playing around,” he said curtly. “Where’d ya put my Pop-Tarts?” 

“See for yourself,” the other boy replied, opening the passenger door. Race peered inside the cab. Sitting neatly on the dashboard were eight shiny silver packages. Race’s mouth fell open in disbelief. Every single one of them was there. 

He turned to Davey accusingly. “How’d you do that? I searched this entire van and I know they wasn’t here.” His eyes narrowed. “You some kinda magician or somethin’?

Davey only held out his hand. “Keys?” 

Race handed them over, still in disbelief. 

“What’s the matter, Race?” Davey asked. “You think you’re the only one who can pull off a practical joke?”

For once, Race had no answer for him. 

“Oh, and for the record,” Davey added, “I knew it was you.” 

“What’cha talkin’ about?” Race asked, still floundering. 

“That one time with the skunk. And the shaving cream.” Davey jabbed his finger into Race’s chest. “ _You_.” And he turned on his heel, leaving Race floored at the revelation that maybe Jack’s old roommate wasn’t as dense as he’d thought after all. 

* * *

Even with Davey driving for the final leg of the trip, they made good time. It wasn’t a particularly talkative ride for the first hour or two, Davey clearly feeling the effects of caffeine withdrawal, and Race still mulling things over as he chewed on his recovered Pop-Tarts. 

An almost palpable feeling of relief descended once they had crossed the border into New Mexico. With only a few hours of driving left until they reached Santa Fe, Davey loosened up a bit, feeling less anxious now that they were on the home stretch. (He hadn’t been joking when he’d told Race that he’d had about all the “fun” he could handle on this trip). Eager to reach their destination, he drove Rachelle at a more rapid pace than usual, much to Race’s delight. 

“Now you’s gettin’ the hang of this drivin’ thing, Davey,” he said approvingly. “A pity you didn’t figure it out till we’s almost to Santa Fe.” 

“You know, Race, after all we’ve been through, I think I would consider you the less qualified of the two of us to remark on anyone’s driving proficiency,” Davey replied caustically, his coffee-less state rendering him even more sarcastically verbose than usual. “But after I’ve driven on an unauthorized part of the highway, nearly rear-ended another car, and practically wrecked the van, I’ll _gladly_ hear your opinion.” 

Race grinned, Davey’s verbal barbs glancing off harmlessly. “We sure is gonna miss this sourpuss and his slow drivin’, ain’t we, Rachelle?” he said aloud. In a burst of inspiration, he began singing cheekily in three-quarter time: 

_“Nooooooo onnnnne’s….paced like this one,_

_Won’t make haste like this one,_

_No one’s lackin’ in musical taste like this one._

_It don’t matter if it’s Schwartz or Menken,_

_Play it: he won’t be impressed._

_But he’ll lecture and scold about cleanness._

_Try to swim in a pool and just watch him protest!_

_“No one churns like this one_

_Out sick burns like this one_

_Constantly dishin’ snarky returns like this one_

_But he ain’t always quick on the uptake -_

_Gullible to the extreme!_

_You can dupe him without any effort;_

_Just proffer some pie and you’ll see what I mean - ”_

“I’m flattered, Race, really,” Davey cut in dryly. “But as much as I love hearing you extol my many virtues, I think I’d actually prefer listening to one of your cast recordings.” 

“Your wish...is my command!” Race gave a theatrical half-bow, pleased at having gotten his traveling partner to actually request his music for the third or fourth time on the trip. _Just watch, Davey,_ he grinned _, I’ll have you beggin’ me to play this stuff by the time we get back to Manhattan._

“Now then,” he said, pulling out his phone. “ _Mamma Mia_ , or _Cats_?”

* * *

The pulled into the driveway of the Kellys’ home in the early afternoon, a full day later than originally expected, but none the worse for wear (though Race, by this time, was all out of Pop-Tarts, and the coffee-deprived Davey all out of words). 

“Cute little place,” Race remarked, taking in the single-family unit with its fresh coat of paint and desert landscaping. “It ain’t no New York City penthouse, but it seems fittin’ for Jacky and Kath.” 

No sooner had Davey put the van in park, when Katherine came out the front door, waving and smiling brightly at them. She was followed closely by a relieved-looking Jack. “Welcome to Santa Fe!” Katherine greeted them, pulling first Race, and then Davey, into a hug. “We’re so glad you made it safely.” 

“Yeah, you bummers had us a little worried,” Jack said, smiling and clapping Race on the back. “I’ll definitely rest easier tonight knowin’ you two is finally here.” He turned his attention to Davey, holding out a tall paper cup. “Here, Dave,” he said. “Racer texted and warned me that you didn’t stop for coffee this mornin.’” Taking the cup and mumbling his thanks, Davey trudged over to a bench sitting outside the front door of the house and collapsed onto it to nurse his drink.

“So,” Katherine gave Race a curious look, “from what Jack’s been telling me, it sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure.”

“Ah, yes.” Race gave Jack a sidelong glance, digging his hands into his pockets and fidgeting uncomfortably. “Did he, uh, happen to mention anything...specific?” 

“Well…” Katherine considered a moment before replying, “he _did_ say something about my grandmother’s china getting smashed en route - ”

Race cringed. “Geez, Kath, I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “I’ll make it up to you, somehow.” To his surprise, Katherine only laughed. 

“There’s no need! I actually never liked the pattern anyway, and now I won’t have to think of an excuse for why I never use that set.”

Race sagged in relief. “For sure, Kath?” he asked. “You ain’t just sayin’ that to make a fella feel better?” 

Katherine nodded, smiling. “For sure.” 

Race let out a sigh, the burden of guilt rolling off of his shoulders. _Thank goodness!_ Almost immediately, his cocky, cheerful demeanor returned. “Way to leave out all the good parts of the story, Jacky!” he chided, giving his friend a look of mock-accusation. “I can’t believe you told Kath about my screw-up, but didn’t mention how I saved us from a holdup or wowed the crowds at my first solo show!” 

Jack scoffed. “Well, that’d all be news to me, too, Racer. In case you forgot, you didn’t exactly tell me much of anything.” Leaving Race to regale Katherine with tales of their adventures, he went to go check on Davey, who was still sitting by himself on the bench, looking rather done in. 

“Hey…” Jack said, plopping down next to the dark-haired boy and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Shaddup,” Davey muttered into his coffee. 

Jack chuckled, his expression both knowing and sympathetic. His old roommate was in desperate need of a quiet evening, a room to himself, and probably another cup of coffee. Fortunately, the Kelly household could provide all three. 

* * *

After a much-needed overnight stay at Jack and Katherine’s, Davey and Race were on the road again the following day. They turned in the moving van (Race bidding a tearful goodbye to Rachelle) and exchanged it for a rental car, which would take them back to Manhattan. 

The return trip was relatively uneventful, Davey having taken it upon himself to arrange the hotel accommodations, and Race assuming the bulk of the driving (and, naturally, the bulk of the singing). In no time, they were back in familiar territory, and Race was following Davey’s directions as they made their way into the suburbs. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind dropping me off at my parents’ place?” Davey asked for probably the hundredth time. “I know it’s a little out of your way, and you’re already taking the car back to the rental location.” 

Race waved off the other boy’s concern. “Ain’t a problem, Dave. I know you’s anxious to see your brother.” 

“Well, do you want to join us for dinner, then?” Davey asked. “I’m pretty sure my parents don’t keep Pop-Tarts at their place, but the food’s pretty good.” 

“No thanks, Dave,” Race replied. “I gotta be somewhere. I’ll take something cold to drink, though, if you have it.” At Davey’s direction, he pulled into the driveway of the Jacobs’ home. 

Before they could start unloading the car, a bowler-wearing boy came running out of the house, shouting Davey’s name and plowing into him with enough force to knock the hat off of his own head and make the older boy stagger back a few steps.

“What took you so long?” the newcomer demanded. “I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon!” 

“Sorry, Les,” Davey apologized, ruffling his brother’s hair affectionately. “Race here isn’t the fastest driver, so we got a little behind.” Giving his traveling partner a teasing smirk, Davey said, “Race, this is my little brother, Les.” He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Les, this is Race. Keep him company for a minute, will you? I’m gonna go get him something to drink.” He turned and walked into the house. 

“Hey kid,” Race nodded at Les. “Nice to meet ya.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Davey’s retreating figure. “Your brother sure is a hoot; never met a slower driver...or a better piano player.” He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “And I think he’s got some kinda magical powers or somethin’...”

Les’ eyes widened. “Did he make something of yours disappear?”

“How’d you know?” Race asked in surprise. Les confided that he had once had a pencil and a quarter in his pocket, and Davey had made both of them vanish into thin air. 

“He _claims_ ‘that’s just what happens when you don't keep an eye on your stuff,’” Les said, punctuating his statement with air quotes, “but I don’t believe him for a second.” 

Before Race could voice his agreement, Davey came back out of the house with a can of soda. “Glad to see you two are getting along,” he remarked, handing Race the drink. 

Race winked at Les. “Yeah. This kid’s a real sharp one, Davey.” 

“He is,” Davey agreed proudly, as he unloaded his luggage from the car. After checking to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind, he turned to Race. “Hey, are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” he offered again. “Our folks really won’t mind.” 

“Mom’s a great cook!” Les added. 

“Nah,” Race shook his head. “I gotta be hittin’ the road. But thanks all the same.” 

Davey nodded. “If you’re sure.” He stuck out his hand. “Well, see you around, Race. Thanks for taking the car back.” Race shook Davey’s hand, surprised at the little pang of sadness he felt now that this handshake officially marked the end of their road trip. Covering his dismay with a grin, Race gave the Jacobs brothers a little farewell salute, then walked over to the rental car and got in. 

_What was there to be sad about?_ he wondered, as he turned the key in the ignition. It was just Davey Jacobs: uptight, rule-following, no-fun Davey Jacobs. Jack’s roommate, Davey Jacobs, who had only seen one musical in his life and who was deathly afraid of the water in hotel pools. Boring ol’ Davey Jacobs who talked in his sleep and was a complete zombie until he’d had his morning coffee...who somehow knew to exactly what to pack so that they’d have everything they needed for their trip, who took the time to help his little brother on his school presentations, who secretly loved the spotlight, and who hadn’t lost his temper with Race, even when the latter’s thoughtlessness had landed both boys in trouble. That Davey Jacobs. A puzzlement. 

Race shook his head, frowning. He was turning into a regular sap. Shifting the car into reverse, he backed out of the driveway and headed down the road. 

* * *

**Epilogue**

They didn’t see each other again for almost two months. Summer turned into fall. Race called the talent scout Bryan Denton, and with the man’s professional assistance, became quite busy with auditions and invitations to guest perform at different venues around town. Davey, Race assumed, was either busy with his graduate school classes or doing whatever else one did with a big brain and a biochemistry degree. They seemed to be drifting into different orbits again, their thin connection dwindling even further now that Jack was no longer in the picture. 

Then, one morning, Race noticed a familiar figure sitting at one of the corner tables of Stumptown Coffee Roasters, engrossed in a book with his ever-present thermos of java beside him. 

Race sauntered over to the table. 

“Well, if it ain’t Davey Jacobs, joinin’ the land of the livin.’” Davey looked up in surprise, and Race made a show of checking his watch. “It ain’t even 9:00 in the morning yet!” he exclaimed, feigning concern. “You feelin’ okay?”

Davey laughed. “I guess it _is_ early for me. Ever since we got back from that road trip, I haven’t been able to sleep in as late as I used to. The lingering effects of your alarm, I suppose.” He motioned to the empty seat beside him. “Want to sit?”

Race dropped into the chair as Davey closed his book. “So, how have you been, Race?” he asked cordially. “I thought I saw you in a promotional ad for some kind of cabaret show last week.” 

“Yeah, Denton’s got a lot of connections,” Race replied. “It’s been busy - can’t complain.” He gestured to the other boy. “What about you?”

“Well, classes just started,” Davey said. “And I’ve been putting in a few hours a week at the lab, trying to keep a foot in the research world as much as I can. It’s great - stimulating and really interesting, and everyone’s so focused and professional…” he trailed off, looking a little wistful. “But I have to admit, I miss the camaraderie of our undergrad days.” 

Race gave him a half smile. “Guess it ain’t the same without Jacky here, huh?” he asked. 

“No, it’s not,” Davey agreed. “I miss him. And Katherine, too.” 

A thoughtful silence settled between them. 

“I’ve...uh...started listening to the _Newsies_ cast recording,” Davey offered, finally breaking the lull in conversation. “It’s actually pretty good.” 

“And I haven’t swam in a hotel pool since we got back,” Race returned, “on account of them bein’ so full of germs and all.” He had a slight grin on his face, and Davey suspected that the other boy was internally laughing at him, but there was no malice in it. 

“That’s great, Race,” he said lightly. “Glad my germaphobic ways could have such an influence on you.” Race gave him another good-natured smirk in reply, and the thought suddenly crossed Davey’s mind that maybe he wasn’t as alone in Manhattan as he’d initially felt. Race certainly wasn’t Jack (there were a million and one reasons why this was true), but maybe he could still be a friend. A reckless, boisterous, sometimes-obnoxious friend...but a friend nonetheless. The thought was oddly comforting to Davey. 

“So…” he ventured, looking at the other boy, “do you...want to go get something to eat?” 

Race’s eyes lit up, and he slung his arm around Davey’s shoulders. “You bet! We gotta start plannin’ our next road trip to Santa Fe.” 

“Hold on,” Davey protested. “I didn’t say that!” 

But Race, as usual, paid him no mind. 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving this ridiculousness a read, and thank you so much if you took the time to leave kudos or comments - I hope that you enjoyed this concluding chapter! :)


End file.
